Wrong!
by StrikeMidnight
Summary: Sherlock actually got something wrong?


"No one thought to talk to the grandmother. Obviously," Sherlock finished, looking around at John and Detective Inspector Lestrade to gage their reactions to his deduction. Of all the possible things the two men could have done, laughing was not the one Sherlock expected. His eyes searched around the room in confusion, thinking maybe they were laughing at something else.

"Sherlock you can't be serious?!" John snorted.

"What? Not good?" Sherlock asked a bit worried that he had missed something glaring. He went over the facts quickly in his head and saw no errors.

"Are you telling me that this 95 year old woman orchestrated the entire thing? That she is some kind of grandmother of organized crime?" Greg held his hands out in a gesture of pleading. "Come on, Sherlock."

"That's exactly what I said."

"She can't even get around on her own. She doesn't remember her name," John tried to explain in a helpful tone tinted with amusement.

"I don't see why this is all so funny," Sherlock crossed his arms indicating his annoyance.

"You've come to some weird stuff before, but this is out there," Greg shook his head at the whole of it.

"Have I been wrong?"

"Well –"

"Have. I. Been. Wrong?"

Greg sighed and looked over at John who shrugged to him, defeated. Sherlock had always been right, no matter how far-fetched his deductions had been at the start. The Detective Inspector hoped and prayed that this wasn't the one time Sherlock Holmes was wrong and he was about to spend the Yard's time and money on a wild goose chase.

"Fine, I'll call you later," Lestrade nodded farewell as he headed out of Baker Street.

D.I. Lestrade called a couple hours later and Sherlock and John were en route via cab immediately. They arrived at the Yard after some difficulty with traffic and were greeted by Greg at the door.

"I'm really glad I thought to talk to her before I put officers on this case," Greg said with a touch of scolding in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, fairly certain of what Greg was going to say. The Detective Inspector waited to speak until the three of them were in his office with the door closed.

"Her caretaker brought her in. Sherlock, I spoke to the old woman, Mrs. Jones. She's completely mental!"

"It's an act."

"I have confirmation from three different doctors, " Greg held out three file folders to John who scanned through them.

"Yep. Advanced dementia, Alzheimer's, you name it. Sorry, Sherlock," John said gently.

"Lestrade, she's putting on an act!"

"Just admit you're wrong Sherlock," Greg looked down trying to hide his smile.

"What now?!" Sherlock nearly shouted in his frustration.

"I'm enjoying this," Greg grinned up at John who was also smiling a bit apologetically. Sherlock looked like he was about to go through the ceiling. "I never thought I'd live to see the day you were _this_ wrong about something!"

"Shut up, I'm NOT WRONG!" Sherlock knocked the files out of John's hands and stormed out of the office. John went to follow, but decided against it.

"I guess asking him to apologize to Mrs. Jones is out of the question. She wouldn't know the difference anyhow," Greg figured, bending to pick up the scattered papers.

"I can do it," John offered knowing that he would feel better about it even if she wouldn't remember it.

John and Greg headed to the room where Mrs. Jones was being held, but were stopped by her newly-arrived family. They were vehemently complaining to D.I. Lestrade about bringing Mrs. Jones in for questioning and were threatening to get lawyers involved. Greg tried to talk over them, assuring them that she was going to be released very shortly, but they only got louder.

"Did you need any help with this?" John asked, wanting to get the apology over and done so he could find Sherlock.

"Nah, I got it. Down the hall there," Greg pointed in the direction where Mrs. Jones was then returned to shouting with the family.

John walked off, glad to be putting distance between him and the yelling mob. He passed by gawking officers who were all standing to see what the noise was all about and rounded the corner to the hall. The clamor was considerably lessened as he walked down, except for a woman's voice that echoed out of the room at the end.

"Yes, they are here now causing a commotion."

John couldn't believe his ears. He approached the room taking careful steps with his back to the wall. Once he reached the outside of the door he glanced in to see Mrs. Jones with her back turned talking on a mobile phone. He nearly guffawed out loud.

"I don't know how they caught on to me! One of my brats must've squealed to the police!"

John tilted his head back and smiled incredulously. Sherlock was going to love this.


End file.
